


The Moonlight Sonata

by Her_Royal_Nonsense



Category: Lord of the Rings (Movies)
Genre: Canon - Movie, Character Death, F/M, Tragic Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-16
Updated: 2013-01-16
Packaged: 2017-11-25 19:02:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/642009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Her_Royal_Nonsense/pseuds/Her_Royal_Nonsense
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Haldir leads the Elves to Helm's Deep, understanding fully that he might not survive the battle. With his last breath he reflects on the mortal he left behind, the sacrifices made and opportunities lost.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Moonlight Sonata

"Haldir!"

Aragorn's voice sliced through the roar of drums and the screams of Elves, Men and Orc alike, capturing the March Warden's attentions and holding them briefly as the elf struggled to make sense of his name amidst the terror and chaos of battle. He struck another Uruk across the chest as Aragorn called out to him once more.

"Haldir, to the keep!"

Nodding, Haldir gestured towards his warriors, willing them in earnest to make haste to their safety. The end of the nightmare was near - they had done their part, honoured their allegiance, and now it was time to retreat.

"To the keep!"

He took another beast down, adding to their list of casualties, when a sharp pain tore at his side and stole the breath from his lungs. He could not tell where it came from, but he could smell his own blood and felt the warmth of it on his hand as he cradled the wound. Was this it? He knew it had been coming for quite some time now. He knew for months that his end was imminent.

It was only a moment, but Haldir of Lórien had let his guard down and he would pay for it with his eternal life.

The second blade struck so deeply and suddenly that it was he all he could do to gasp in shock. It remained there, so embedded through his thick armour and through his back he might have mistaken it for part of his own self.

The clashing of metal, the screams of the fallen, everything suddenly went still and Haldir felt his knees begin to fail beneath him.

He thought about closing his eyes - to simply let death become him and pass on swiftly to the Halls of Mandos, but he owed it to his valiant soldiers to look. To see them at their end and imagine the sacrifices they made.

And there were far too many of them. Too many good elves he had known and loved for centuries, loved just as dearly as he loved Rúmil and Orophin, and now they were naught but lifeless shells – slaughtered like animals and left in pools of their own blood before him. Far too many of them gazed at him through their sightless, dead eyes.

You were supposed to keep us safe, he accused himself on their behalf. Haldir fell to his knees.

She was there too; his mortal beloved. But death had not taken her yet and it would not for some years still, he knew. Haldir blinked tiredly at the vision of her. Somewhere, he heard his name on the wind, but it was not whispered by her voice. Yes, this must have been the end. His impending, imminent death had forced him to deny her and in doing so; deny his own heart in turn.

In truth, there was a time when Haldir had been fully prepared to accept the loss of her - he could survive watching her grow old and frail and he would continue to love her through every waking moment of it regardless. There was no doubt in his mind that her loss would make his life utterly unbearable, miserable - the loss of her would drive an iron fist to perpetually tighten about his lungs, would have caused his countenance to fade into darkness, but he could have survived it. Even though he would not have her, he would have time to heal. Although he might not ever feel whole again, although he likely would never love again - he would eventually learn to laugh. He would seize Fate by the throat; it would not bend or crush him entirely.

He would have wrought that agony upon himself in a heartbeat had the Valar blessed their union, but never in a million years could he have ever inflicted the same endless torment onto her. She was so young and so human but she was destined to outlive him. Human hearts were so fickle and flighty by nature, they did not love everlasting as elves did. This was the most difficult realization for Haldir to come to terms with, but he brought himself to that understanding nonetheless. He'd made it easy for her. He had denied her and he denied himself of her. He denied her his touch; he denied her his lips, he denied her any promise of peace and happiness to be spent with him at her side. She would one day come to realize that she could not miss something she never had. He was hoping this would make their parting easier. She would never know him as a lover, and yet when he left her that night she wept as if he'd been one.

But one thing she did not do was ask him to stay. Just as he would not widow her, she would not have him act dishonourably on her account. Too proud a young lady to plead, she told him only that she loved him and turned away bitterly, setting that icy mask of resolution firmly back in place. It kept him always at a distance, but he understood her need to build a wall, to manifest a barrier of some sort between them.

Perhaps had she asked him to stay that night, he would have stayed with her forever.

Perhaps not.

He'd kissed her—only once—pressed his lips against the girl's fingers and let them linger for a moment longer than what was absolutely necessary. He'd tasted the salty tears she had rubbed from her own eyes. He let his own eyes wander to her lips but resisted the temptation to claim them for his own.

"Whatever our souls are made of, Haldir, yours and mine are the same," she had whispered to him once.

Haldir blinked once more, brought back to the present by the glint of moonlight over his sword. He never felt so tired before in his life. Darkness began to enclose upon him like iron chains wrapping their steely hold around his neck, suffocating his every sense and making it excruciatingly difficult to breathe.

Perhaps she would sing a lament for him.

Somewhere, far away, a young woman's hand slipped in err and her bow dropped to the ground with a resonant thud, striking a sour chord from the simple viol she had been playing. She sat in silence, one hand a pale white as it gripped the fretted fingerboard while the other rubbed a ball of imaginary dirt between the pads of her thumb and her forefinger. There were no theatrics nor hysterics, no screams wretched from her lips of immeasurable pain or unimaginable loss, nor did her heart suddenly break. There was nothing but a subtle change in the air around her.

It had gotten a bit cold for now. "Come back to me, my love," she whispered to no one.

Perhaps she would not.

She was not Lúthien, and he was not Beren. No, together they were Andreth and Aegnor, the mortal woman and immortal elf - the pair who would never get a second chance to love.

His head fell back and Haldir of Lórien was gone.


End file.
